Thoughts on a Rainy Evening
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: When Napoleon is hurt, Illya begins to question their relationship.


I set my jaw and stared out at the storm. It was as if the sky was exploding in a mighty battle. There was a sharp crack of thunder and the hospital lights dimmed. I hoped that the operating room had its own generator. If we didn't lose power tonight, it would be a miracle and I was short of miracles these days.

Why did he have to do that? I asked myself again and again. Yes, I was in the line of fire, but Napoleon had no business jumping in front of me and taking the brunt of the attack. I'm an agent. This is what happens to us, at times much too frequently. What would have been a flesh wound for me was more serious for Napoleon.

"Why did you do this?" I demanded as I fell to my knees and tried to stop the bleeding while chaos exploded around me.

"Seemed like… good idea." He coughed and blood flicked his lips.

"What? Dying?" I regretted the words the moment I said them, but Napoleon just smiled a little and his eyes fluttered.

"Worth it for you." And he slumped in my arms and stopped breathing.

"Damn you, Solo. Don't you dare die on me!" I started CPR and managed to keep him going until the ambulance arrived. By the time they pulled me away from him, I was exhausted and covered in blood. His blood.

They'd given me some scrubs to change into, but it didn't help obscure the image of Napoleon on a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance.

I abandoned the window and returned to the bitterly uncomfortable chair that I'd been camped in for the last two hours. It really wasn't the chair's fault. It could have been overstuffed with feathers or made of the finest leather - it still would have tormented me.

Again and again, the scene played out in my mind until I began to question my own sanity. Then I remembered a conversation not long ago with Waverly.

"Mr. Kuryakin, how long have you and Mr. Solo been partners?"

"Nearly ten years, sir."

"Do you realize you hold a record?"

"Sir?"

"Before you, Mr. Solo's partners last less than a few months." He puffed on his pipe and I did my best not to cough. "Why do you suppose that is?"

"I have no idea, sir." And I really didn't. At first Napoleon had made me crazy, but he was also the first person in UNCLE to reach a hand in friendship to me. He seemed to understand what it was like to be alone and regarded with distrust. He asked me for nothing in return. It took me a while, but I learned to trust and even depend upon his friendship.

"I understand. Some things defy explanation."

We left it at that and I walked away wondering what it was all about. Granted the last year has been hard on us. It seemed as if one of us was under a doctor's care for the better part of the year and always because we were rushing in to save the other.

A hand on my shoulder broke me from my reverie and I looked up into the tired eyes of the surgeon.

"It was a bit of touch and go for a while, but he will be fine. He was damn lucky it wasn't one inch either way or we'd be planning his funeral."

"_слава богу_, I murmured, not even reflecting how ironic it must seem to have a Soviet thanking a non-existent God. "When can I see him?"

"He's just coming out of Recovery. How about you freshen up a bit and I will see about finding you a bed."

I followed his gaze to my hands, still stained with blood. "Oh, I'm not injured."

"I know that, but if you think I'm sending anyone out in that storm, you are crazy." The thunder cracked and rolled again and the lights flickered. "Off you go."

The room was small, just two beds and Napoleon was already occupying one of them. The lights were low and the only sound in the room was the steady reassuring beep of the heart monitor and the pounding of the rain against the window. It felt as if we had nothing short of a typhoon bearing down on us.

I walked to Napoleon's side and touched his hand. It was warm and that sang to my heart. Tired brown eyes opened and his mouth moved slightly. He swallowed and tried again.

"Get the name of that truck?" he asked, his lips playing with the smallest of smiles..

"You are an idiot, Napoleon," I exploded. Better anger than tears. "What were you trying to prove?"

"Love you…" He drifted back into sleep, leaving behind a stunned and very confused partner.

"You what?" I managed after a moment. If he'd gotten up and hit me with a stick, I wouldn't have been more stunned.

Napoleon was the most dedicated skirt chaser I'd ever met. He genuinely loved women from the top of their overly teased and lacquered hair down to the tips of their shell pink toenails. Of course, this might have explained his overly solicitous attentions whenever a woman happened to look in my direction. He didn't like sharing. He never did. I'd always thought it have been because he didn't want me to have a woman. But could it have been that he didn't want any woman to have me. Napoleon? Could that even be possible?

I eased down into the bed. It felt odd to sleep in a hospital bed without a mass of tubes running in and out of my body. The lights flickered, hesitated and then came back. I suspected the generator had just kicked in.

Lying on my side, I studied Napoleon's face, so relaxed and boyish looking at the moment and chided myself. Of course, Napoleon loved me. I loved him as well. We were partners, we were friends, we were more than brothers and to hurt him was to hurt me.

_That had to be what he meant, _I thought as I drifted off to sleep. _Didn't it?_


End file.
